


Four Years of Sam

by EllaStorm



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, in celebration of 9 years of Wincest, set after "Wendigo"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 09:57:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2305610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllaStorm/pseuds/EllaStorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean gets his brother back, he wonders what he has missed, and where they stand after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Years of Sam

Dean woke up to the dark shadows of trees rushing past him, illuminated by the clouded paleness of a half moon hanging behind them in the distance, as Baby purred her way through whatever state they were currently in. He blinked and felt the need to crack his neck to get rid of the uncomfortable stiffness that had settled there.

“Hey”, came the soft greeting from the driver’s side as he sat up. Turning his head he caught a small glimpse of Sam’s smile, before his brother put his eyes back on the road. Dean seized the few minutes the lingering sluggishness of sleep granted him to take in Sam’s darkened silhouette in the driver’s seat, the sharpness of his cheekbones, the shaggy curls of hair at the nape of his neck, the slight upwards curve of his nose. Even though his features still looked familiar, something about him had gotten more rough around the edges, less boyish, and Dean’s insides gave a painful little twinge at this brutal reminder of having missed four years. Four years of Sam.

He carefully averted his eyes before the twinge could turn into something more powerful, more overwhelming, and settled for a slurred “Where’re we at?” to distract himself.

“Just outta Colorado. Nebraska, now.” Sam yawned. “Should be gettin’ a motel room soon”, he added.

“Yeah”, Dean agreed. “I guess we should.”

 

***

 

After claiming the first shower and inspecting the Wendigo-inflicted cuts on his face while quietly cussing under his breath, Dean put himself to bed and waited for his brother to come out of the bathroom so he could turn off the lights. It was four in the morning, and they wouldn’t get a lot of sleep anyway, but three hours were better than nothing, and the motel they had found was relatively clean by their standards, so they could at least try to get a little rest, especially Sam, whose gigantic limbs made sleeping in the car more than uncomfortable for him.

The bathroom door opened, and Dean forced himself not to stare at Sam’s towel-clad form rummaging through his duffel bag, searching for a fresh shirt to sleep in. Things weren’t like that any more. And even if there had been something left of whatever _that_ was, it had been burnt to dust and ashes with Jess on the ceiling of Sam’s dorm room one week ago. So Dean didn’t look, or think, or consider. It was better this way. 

“Get on with it and move your ass to bed, Sasquatch, so I can switch off the goddamn light”, Dean grumbled, peeking at Sam through his lashes, who had finally, thankfully, found and put on a thin-worn grey t-shirt and a pair of boxers to go with it. He padded over to his bed, and Dean’s hand was already hovering over the light switch - but then, all of a sudden, Sam said “Dean”, and Dean’s movement came to an abrupt halt.

It wasn’t that Sam hadn’t said his name in the last week. Actually, he’d said it more often than Dean could count. Only this time – this time it didn’t sound like Stanford-Sam would say it, too-grown-up-stranger-Sam. It sounded like Sam had said it at thirteen, when his nightmares had scared the crap out of him, and then at fifteen, when the word brother had scared the crap out of him, and Dean sat up straight and asked “What is it, Sammy?”, before he could even think of speaking.

Sam just stood there, in the middle of the room, and looked him in the eye. There was nothing strange about him at all now, unlike back in the car half an hour ago – and this was something Dean hadn’t been preparing for, something he couldn’t take his eyes off of, because maybe this was the last time he would ever really see _Sam_ again. So he stared. Directly. Unguardedly. Marvelling at who was staring back at him, all those layers of shared blood, shared laughter, shared pain, shared everything, wrapped into one boy who had gone and become a man without him, until he felt raw and open and unarmed.

“Finally”, Sam said, breaking the silence. “I thought you’d already forgotten how to look at me.” Dean let out the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, and held Sam’s gaze, as his brother purposefully strode towards him and sat down on the edge of his bed. He didn’t say anything else, just kept looking at Dean, too close for comfort now, all up in his personal space, and Dean’s skin felt too tight, too hot, too prickly. It made him want to do something rash, something crazy. “Sam…”, he began, before realising that he didn’t really know what to say.

His brother slightly shook his head, bangs falling into his eyes. “D’you forget how to kiss me, too?” And then it was all chapped lips and big hands cradling his skull, and Dean opened up, let Sam in, clicking back into rhythm with him like one part of a perfectly crafted gearwheel pair, like four years had never happened, like Stanford and Jess and the fire had never happened – or, more like they just didn’t matter. Not for this. 

“I haven’t”, Dean replied quietly, when Sam let go of him for a short second. “Couldn’t.”

“I know. Me neither”, Sam said, and went back to kissing Dean.

There were no more words exchanged that night.


End file.
